When What's Right Is Wrong
by lovesbitca8
Summary: "There will be a medical examination tomorrow morning." Her breath hitched, and something stuck in her throat. "Is there something you need me to do?" A breath left him, almost a laugh, and he spun to stare at her bookshelf, like he couldn't bear the sight of her. "You are a virgin. Still." / Smutty AU of The Auction Ch19 wherein Draco cannot find a magical solution to his problem


**A/N: This is my gift to my Facebook group in honor of reaching 1,000 members! Come hang out with us in the "Rights & Wrongs" group! Thanks to my AlphaBet for putting up with this shameless smut after finishing with Ch 20. **

**SPOILERS FOR THE AUCTION - This fic takes place inside The Auction universe, and is an AU of Ch 19. Familiarity with The Auction and the Rights and Wrongs Universe is highly recommended. This fic exists as if Draco could not find a magical solution for his problem in Ch 19**

**Triggers/Warnings: This is a smutty, fantasy AU of a very important plot point within The Auction, a fic that centers around Draco and Hermione's ever-evolving relationship in a Voldemort Wins universe. Hermione is being kept at Malfoy Manor under the guise of a bought and abused sex slave. This oneshot contains LESS THAN FULL CONSENT. Consider yourself warned for Virginity Loss, Mild Substance Abuse, Dubious Consent... and also angsty romance. **

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She was folding herself into bed at 11 PM when a quiet tapping caught her ear. Hermione paused, knees hovering over the mattress, and listened closely.

When there was no following sound, she crept to the door and reached for the handle to see if anyone was there. Draco was walking away from her room, back toward his. The sound of the door opening caused him to spin back, his eyes wide and pink on his cheeks.

"Granger."

She blinked at him. "Is everything alright?"

He looked away from her, eyes landing on the carpets, the paintings — anything that wasn't her in the doorway.

"Yes, I was just—"

"Did you need help with your project?"

His eyes landed back on her, and he shifted a few moments before asking, "Can I come in?"

She shuffled to the side, pulling at her simple nightclothes, making sure she was covered. He entered and crossed to her chairs, eyes catching on her unmade bed before dropping to the carpets again. He looked pale.

"Would you like to sit?" she asked softly. Like steadying a nervous horse.

Shaking his head, and taking a deep breath, he turned to face her. "There will be a medical examination tomorrow morning."

Her breath hitched, and something stuck in her throat. Bright ceilings and mint potions and sharp cuts to her insides.

"I don't know why they're coming," he continued, beginning to pace. "Apparently, they're checking on the Lots—the girls in every household."

He paused. She waited calmly, trying not to betray her frantic heartbeat.

"Alright," she managed. "Is there something you need me to do?"

A breath left him, almost a laugh, and he spun to stare at her bookshelf, like he couldn't bear the sight of her.

She stood silently, holding her breath for him.

"You are a virgin. Still."

Realization cracked over her like an egg against a bowl. Her skin was tingling and numb as she took a deep breath. "Will they check for that?"

He paused. "It is part of their routine medical examination. I checked."

Her heartbeat was now thumping in her ears, drowning her. They'd know tomorrow — they'd know that Draco hadn't been using her as he ought to have been.

He'd be killed. So would Narcissa, and Lucius. Perhaps they'd kill the elves, too. Drag in his friends for questioning.

A sharp intake of breath near the bookshelf brought her back to the present.

"I've been looking into magical options," he said quickly, eyes still roaming the books on her shelves. "I was looking for a spell to take it away or to fool the test." She watched him with held breath as he swallowed. "I didn't find anything."

She nodded. Her skin felt tight and itchy as her mind raced through potential options, the ways she could fix this.

But he'd spent all day in the library, searching for a solution. She remembered how frantic he'd been that morning — how determined. She was certain that coming to her had been a last resort. He was here because there were no other solutions.

Except for the obvious one.

"So, I need to have sex. Before tomorrow morning," she said factually.

His jaw clenched. He took a deep, rattling breath — then seemed to grow agitated again. He resumed his pacing. "We can search for other options. I still might be able to—"

"Isn't that what you've been doing all day?"

He halted at her window. She saw his ribcage expand a few times before he finally nodded at the pond.

"And they'll be here first thing in the morning?"

Another curt nod.

_Other options._ Hermione considered. It was theoretically possible, of course, but it might take days. Weeks. Visits to specialists. And they only had eight hours.

There were no excuses for it. If she was found untouched tomorrow morning, they'd all be exposed. What might happen after that was too terrible to consider.

He finally turned around, his pale expression matching the cold panic spreading across her limbs. But panic wouldn't help either of them in this situation.

Resolve began washing over her, slicing a knife through her dread. She took a deep breath and tried to look at him, to really look at him. She'd imagined this. She'd wanted this. She'd not known the specifics or the exact steps leading towards it, but she'd thought of him in that way for years.

Him above her, hovering, kissing. Her hands in his hair. His lips on her neck.

"I can ask Blaise," he said suddenly. "If you'd be more… If you'd prefer it not be me."

Hermione blinked at him in confusion, and then frowned. He was trying to run away again, like he always did when he thought he was protecting her. "You think I'd be more comfortable with a stranger?"

He swallowed thickly, looking down at the carpets. "I just thought… given our history…" He trailed off, and Hermione watched him glance quickly at her rumpled bedding again. And maybe he was remembering how he had to pin her down and simulate an attack. Or maybe he was just speaking of their animosity as a whole. "You have no history with Blaise."

"I don't want to sleep with Blaise," she said firmly. Leaving no room for argument. His shoulders seemed to shudder. She tried to steady her voice as she asked, "Are you alright with what needs to be done?"

His eyes flickered to her. His fingers rolled into fists before he shoved them in his pockets and nodded at her.

A slow, steadying wave of relief. "Draco, listen to me. I don't want this to be unpleasant for either of us, okay?"

His jaw loosened, his gaze still locked on hers. Another curt nod.

She away from his hot eyes and grabbed a quill and parchment from her desk. "There's a very simple potion that could make things easier for us." She'd looked it up when she was on the run, and Ron was in a constant state of anger and frustration. Before she'd realized what the locket was doing to him. "Not as numbing as a Calming Draught, but similar principles," she said, writing down the ingredients and instructions.

"Granger, I'm not going to drug you—"

"It's not mind altering. Just a suppressant for negative emotions. You'll still be able to think like you. It just helps you to focus on the—on the good." She blushed and turned to give him the instructions. Her hand reaching. Asking him to take it from it from her.

His mouth opened and closed a few times. And then he slowly shuffled over and took it from her. She tried not to stare at his long, pale fingers.

"If you brew it up," she said, "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."

He hesitated for a moment, staring down at the instructions. She tried to read them again, checking to see if he was confused—

"I'm sorry, Granger," he whispered. Her eyes snapped up to him. His fringe had fallen in his face, his eyes still cast down. "I didn't want…this to happen to you."

"Well, I assume it would have happened one day," she said lightly. His lips pressed together, and before he could speak, she said, "No guilt, Draco. Promise me."

His eyes widened, and she flushed. But he nodded.

"It's good that it's you," she said.

Her heart stalled and her mind whited out as his eyes drifted up to her face.

_Fuck_. What was wrong with her.

She was warm all over as she said, "See you in fifteen," and turned abruptly to escape to her bathroom.

Once she was safely behind the bathroom door, she dropped her heated face in her hands, and cursed all the gods above for her stupidity. She ran her hands through her tangled hair and decided that a bath was in order.

She drew the water quickly and detangled her hair. Fighting against the insane notion of using the special soaps and lotions that she had thought were too flowery for day-to-day, Hermione quickly scrubbed and prepared for…_it_.

Her mind focused on her tasks at hand. If she thought ahead too far, she started to panic.

In her armoire, there were nightdresses she'd never worn. She chose a long silk dress that went down to her knees, feeling quite exposed without knickers on.

Within too short of a time, Draco was knocking at her door again, and she was bidding him entrance.

He entered, having changed into his sleep clothes. His eyes ran over her once before looking away and offering her one of the two vials he had with him.

She drank quickly, and the effects were immediate on her pounding heart. The room was no longer closing in on her. It was just her bedroom. The person in front of her was not going to hurt her. It was just Draco.

With more confidence than she felt, Hermione moved toward the bed. She heard him follow.

"Do you"—he cleared his throat—"do you have a preference for…how you'd like it done?"

She blinked at him, and the only answer racing through her mind was _softly_.

"Done?"

"I mean to say, if you'd prefer not to look at me, you can be on your—" He cut off abruptly, and a fresh flush rose in his cheeks. "You don't have to be on your back," he corrected.

Her teeth bit at her lip, running through all the different options she had, but finding herself no more comfortable. On her stomach made her feel helpless and on all fours made her feel like an animal.

"On my back is fine," she said, voice thin.

He nodded at the spot over her shoulder, suddenly looking quite queasy.

"I won't kiss you. Or touch you more than necessary." He nodded to himself, as if the words were for his benefit. "I'll use a lubrication spell. It will be quick, and I'll make it as painless as possible."

She hummed her acceptance, focusing on words like "lubrication" and "quick." It was to be efficient, and nothing else.

When he was quiet for several long moments, she offered, "Is there anything else?"

His eyes came to her face for the first time. "No that's all." He cracked a knuckle. "So whenever you're ready—"

She moved to the bed like it was the gallows. There was a discussion in her head about under covers or over covers, before she finally pulled back the comforter and slipped under it, scooting to lie in the center of her bed. She stared up at her canopy, waiting.

For a moment she wondered if Draco had left. The room was quiet, only the crackling of the fireplace met her ears. And then she heard him move closer.

She let her mind wander to the sunlight that used to flood McGonagall's classroom during afternoon lessons, and the way it would light him under the window, his hair glowing and unearthly.

The covers pulled back.

The way he moved in his Seeker robes, his thighs clamping down on his broom.

A dip in the mattress as he sat on the edge.

His voice in Snape's class whenever he knew the answer to complicated questions — the way he would beat her to the answer, eager to best her.

His breath was heavy in the quiet bedroom.

She thought of the nights she would lie in bed—just like this—only with her fingers in her knickers, thinking of him, breathing quietly into the darkness of her dormitory—

"Are you comfortable?"

She laughed outright, slapping a hand over her mouth a second later.

"Sorry," he started. "Probably a stupid question—"

"No, no." She took a deep breath. "I'm…comfortable."

He was under the covers with her. She pressed her lips together, trying to keep her mind on the way she wanted him. The way she used to dream of this.

"I'm going to cast the Lubrication Spell now."

She nodded quickly. She folded her hands over her stomach, feeling quite like Snow White in her casket.

Only he said there would be no kissing.

That was respectable of him.

To keep this transactional.

It was a job that needed to be done.

And he got stuck with it.

A murmur from him and a light at the end of his wand. And then a warm trickling sensation inside of her. She gasped, squeezing the sheets between her fingers and clamping her thighs closed.

"Are you alright? Was that…?"

"It's fine. It's…strange."

She shifted her hips, and some of the lubrication slipped from her. She winced.

"It may be strange at first," he said hesitantly. "It's completely natural to feel moisture or—"

"I've been _aroused_ before, Draco. Thank you very much," she snapped.

It was deathly quiet. And then after a moment, she heard him swallow. She did the same.

He moved through the sheets, sliding until she could feel his warmth next to her. She knew she had to open her legs and let him in, but she hesitated, keeping her eyes on her canopy. He shifted next to her, and then he carefully leaned over her, one knee coming to the other side of her thighs.

She tried to open her legs belatedly, and knocked him.

"Sorry, I—"

"Sorry, did you—"

"I can—"

The confusion caused them to make eye contact, which was awful. Just awful.

He hovered over her, his hair falling forward towards her, begging her to brush it back. The light from the bedside lamp sent shadows across his sharp jaw and cheeks, with only moonlight from the other direction. His alabaster skin was pale and clear, pristine — smooth if she could touch.

Her eyes dipped lower — finding him still in his relaxed sleeping clothes. "Why are you still wearing your shirt?"

His grey eyes snapped back up to hers — pity she hadn't been tracking where they'd been — and he said, "I thought… I thought you'd be more comfortable…"

She stared up at him, her hands still clasped over her chest. He wet his lips, and she felt her breasts pull tight under the thin nightgown.

Her leg twitched against his again, and she frowned. "You're wearing your bottoms as well? How will that work?"

His jaw clenched and unclenched. His arms were on either side of her head, holding himself high above her.

"I can… take them off if you'd prefer."

It wasn't about her preference, she told herself. It was about practicality. _Practicality_ was the source of her quick nod of assent. _Practicality_ was pleased with the lithe and unhurried way he tugged the shirt from the back of his neck. And _Practicality_ hummed when he blushed at her wandering eyes.

He started an awkward shuffle to remove his pajama bottoms, but she was distracted by the Sectumsempra scar weaving its way down his smooth chest. Her fingers itched to reach out. It cut an angry line under his heart, zagging back down his stomach and dipping down to—

She brought her eyes back up to the ceiling and listened to him pant with the effort of removing his clothing under the covers. The sound of it was sensual, evocative.

And within moments she was assisting him to maneuver between her thighs. She opened her hips, feeling his hand brush accidentally over her waist. She pulled up her slip to pool over her stomach, swallowing the anxiety down.

One fist returned to the mattress beside her head, holding himself up. The other…

She saw his arm move several times. His knuckles grazed his stomach on the upstroke—

"Sorry—"

"Sorry—"

She bit her lip, waiting, waiting.

"Is there anything wrong?"

"No," he said quickly. "I'll just… begin, then."

His fingers touched down on her thigh. She jumped, but managed not to squeak. They trailed up, up, toward her hipbone. His palm landed there, wrapping his fingers around the flesh of her hip before dragging inwards.

His long fingers, holding his quill. Wrapping around the handle of his broom.

Then she felt him dancing over the crease of her thighs. So close…

"I'm going to… start now."

She nodded.

And then she felt him, pushing through her folds. She took a gasping breath at the same time he exhaled.

She closed her eyes, feeling her thighs tense and her stomach clench.

"Relax," he whispered. "If you can."

She nodded, concentrating on relaxing her muscles. She could think of a lake with still waters, and a book closing, but the idea of leaving this moment, of losing it somehow… It felt wrong to her.

So she stared up at Draco's tight and concentrated face as he pushed inside of her, stretching her, making room for himself in her body.

She bit down hard on her lip, eyes squeezing closed. It was unnatural. Her body was rejecting it. She couldn't do this—

"Relax, please," he begged hoarsely.

She almost retorted that she _was relaxed_, but then she felt his hand on her hip, his thumb rubbing firm circles over her hipbone. His breath panted from above her.

A deep breath, and she felt him slip deeper. She squeaked at the same time that a low groan escaped from his throat.

Her eyes snapped open, and she found Draco's eyes clenched in pain, his arm shaking beside her head. She concentrated on him, feeling his thumb rubbing her hip soothingly even as his fingers dug bruises into her skin. She watched as he puffed air quickly, as if he hadn't breathed for hours.

The pressure inside her belly was tight and insistent, like something needed to crack open. She focused on her breathing, the way his naked chest glowed white in the moonlight—

He slipped further inside. She gasped silently, and watched Draco's face as it broke open into pleasure, his eyelids fluttering, his jaw dropping open, body trembling.

His arm quivered violently, and then he was drifting down with limited control to his elbow. His stomach was against hers. His hips shifted with the movement. She watched his eyes blink open, gaze landing on her chest covered in silk before quickly pressing them closed again.

Her hands had gripped the sheets, twisting them between her fingers as he'd opened her body to him. But he was so close to her now. She could reach up and lock her hands behind his neck. Or run her fingers down his pale ribs. Or finally — _finally_ — run her fingers through his hair, letting the strands fall and rearrange themselves.

She held tighter to the sheets.

He licked his lips, and said, "Okay?"

And she thought maybe this is where someone would kiss her. Where he'd thank her for letting him inside, thank her for letting him be the first, and press his lips softly against hers, caring for her.

"Yes," she said.

Draco withdrew, slowly, slowly, and then rocked back into her.

Her mouth fell open.

Oh.

_Oh._

His air was panting roughly against her face. He slid out of her just a bit and rolled forward, and the sound he made in the back of his throat felt like chocolate dripping across her skin.

The hand that had been rubbing her hip and gripping bruises into her skin shifted up to her waist. She shivered, feeling her breasts pull tightly, just inches above his fingertips.

His thrusts were so gentle. Shallow, almost. Just a soft dip of his body into hers.

But his eyes remained tightly closed. Even as his jaw hung open, letting out breathy noises against her clavicle, he didn't look down on her.

His hair fell forward into his eyes, and Hermione felt her chest warm, the desire to push it back for him — to touch him — wrung out a soft moan from between her heavy breaths.

He paused, licking his lips, and squeezing his face tight. His hips were still. The hand on her waist lifted off.

"We can stop now," he said thickly. "That should be good. We can stop."

Hermione felt her body tense. Still, his eyes were closed.

"Are you—" she stammered. "You're sure? You finished?"

He shook his head, his arms starting to shake again. "That will be enough for the spell."

There was a stirring in her stomach that was going to grow cold. The weight of him over her was going to disappear. She hadn't memorized his face or his scent yet.

He started to lift himself up, and the withdrawal of himself from her body sent a pleasant ripple down her spine.

"What if you're wrong?" she blurted out. "What if it's not enough?"

He tried to steady his breathing, caught with just the tip still inside of her. "I'm positive it will—"

"We should continue. Finish," she said resolutely.

Her hands released the sheets, fingers tense and sore, and she placed them on his arms.

His eyes flew open, seeing her for the first time since he'd pressed inside of her. She must have looked a mess — his gaze roved quickly over her hair, her pink cheeks, her open mouth, and down to her heaving chest.

His pupils were dark and deep, and Hermione squeezed his arms beneath her fingers.

"We don't have to—" he began, but she leveraged her hips up and he slid back inside.

His mouth opened, hanging lax. His eyes flickered from her eyes to her mouth, and she tilted her hips up again.

He groaned, eyes snapping shut and neck stretching tight. And with one slow thrust, he was back where he'd been seconds ago. She whimpered when he failed to move right away.

His hips rolled slow, his eyes drifting open, focusing down on her chest again.

She wondered what would happen if she bared her breasts to him.

But that pained pleasure crossed his face again, and Hermione wondered something else when his body trembled again with his slight thrusts.

"Are you inside… all the way?"

His jaw clenched, and he said through closed eyes, "Almost. It's fine like this."

Shallow. Gentle. Painful to him.

"You can… You can give me all of you."

His entire body shuddered. She felt it across every inch of her.

"This is fine," he whispered, voice tight.

"Draco," she argued, but then she shifted her legs under him, opening her hips wider to cradle his—

And he sunk down into her like a stone dropping through water.

She gasped, throwing her head back and grasping at his shoulders. He cursed, hand scrambling for her legs—to keep her still or to pull out, she wasn't sure, but he grabbed her knee as she was bending it upward, in strained pleasure—

And then her leg was lifted, opened wide, spreading her out — and he bottomed out inside of her.

His head dropped to her shoulder as a low groan was wrenched from him, the sound of it rumbling her chest and swirling down deep in her belly where he was tight inside of her.

She tried to breathe. There was so much of him he'd been holding back — or maybe she just couldn't decipher the depth of his thrusts from inside of herself — or maybe it wasn't that his length was too much, but _he_ was too much, pressed tight to her hips, stomach and chest laid down on hers, breath heavy on her clavicle.

Maybe it was both.

He moaned a delicious sound into her skin as he hitched her knee and rolled against her.

"Oh!" It slipped out of her as she tried to get accustomed to feeling him so deep, her other leg lifting to curl along his hips.

Her eyes pressed closed and he pushed forward again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her chest, and she was about to ask him what for when he pulled back and thrust into her, muttering another apology.

He buried his face into her neck as he rutted forward over and over, rocking her body, shaking the bed, holding her knee captive. Hermione's jaw opened in rapture, and she gave her hands permission to slide over his shoulders, threading into his hair as he rasped, "I'm sorry," into her ear, losing himself in pleasure.

Pleasure she was giving to him.

Pleasure he could find in her body.

Her eyes rolled back, and she focused on the softness of his hair, the sounds of his panting, the sharp thrusts of his hips, the slow burn in her core as his pace sped up.

His jaw brushed along hers, nuzzling into her neck and cheek. He was moaning with every thrust.

She gripped his hair, holding him close, and turned her face to him, sharing his breath, pushing her mouth to the corner of his.

His tongue was inside of her a moment later — sweeping through her mouth, pressing against her own, spinning delicious sounds down her throat as his hips snapped.

Before she could relish the feel of him, he broke the kiss, grabbed her jaw with his free hand, and said, "Look at me."

Her eyes fluttered open, blinking to see him clearly. His grey eyes were black and fiery on her.

"Do you want to come," he asked, hanging on her answer as his hips slowed to a luxurious rolling inside of her.

Her nipples tightened and she nodded frantically in his grip. "Yes. Please. Please, Draco, I need—"

His mouth was hot on hers again, his hand sliding down her neck, passing over her breast with a firm squeeze, and then sliding down between them. Within a moment his fingers were between them, swirling over the spot between her legs she used to tease in her dormitory, thinking of him, thinking of his hands, thinking of this exact moment—

"Oh, god," she moaned into his mouth, and his tongue swept inside of her again, his fingers moving quickly on her, his hips starting to push deeper again.

He rubbed her in circles, over and over and over until she had to pull her face from him to breathe. "Yes."

"Like this?" he asked.

"Yes!"

His fingers were firmer, rubbing tighter, swirling down to catch the moisture between them and dragging back up to circle her.

His other hand was pressing her thigh back to open her wide, stretching her out and pounding deeper inside of her as her legs trembled.

"Please," he whispered into her neck, as her hands tore at his scalp. "Please, Granger, I'll give you anything you want—"

Her back bowed. Her hips seized. His fingers sped up, and his hips punished hers in a rattling rhythm.

"I—I'm—"

"Yes, give you anything, please, Granger, please—"

She started to scream, voice choked in her throat, arms clinging to his shoulders, face tilted back to the heavens. He mouthed at her jaw as she shuddered around him, her hips jumping and legs spasming outwards. He pumped into her throughout, finally easing up on her bundle of nerves and sliding his hand up her stomach to palm the underside of her breast.

She was still tight, still rippling, still shaking when his hand dropped her knee and held her face in place, his forehead pressing to hers as he groaned against her. His hips snapped haphazardly, deep and quick and full.

And then his mouth was on hers as he growled, "Fuck!" and stilled, deep inside of her and pulsing. His hand slipped up to her breast, just holding her, his thumb pressed to her nipple. His tongue in her lazy mouth, searching for the last pieces of her before she drifted back into her body.

She kissed him, messy and slow, her tongue twisting back around his, thanking him, thanking him for being inside of her, thanking him for being her first.

His body was still trembling with it all when he finally kissed her fully, covering her mouth and rubbing his thumb over her nipple in slow, firm circles that had her thighs quivering.

He was heavy on her, still locked inside — her hips wide and open under his, her knees squeezing him to her. He held her jaw still, as if she would disappear, and kissed her slow and dizzy.

His fingers tweaked her breast, and she gasped, throwing her head back. He followed her, squeezing again and claiming her mouth before she could turn away.

She felt light. Like a breeze could topple her. But he kept swirling his fingers on her breast, thumbing her, like they weren't finished yet. And it made her ache again.

His mouth left her, painting a picture down her neck, dropping over her clavicle, and he slipped out from inside of her with a slow, drugging pull that had her throwing her neck back for him as he dropped kisses over her chest.

One hand gripped her hip, the other still torturing her breast, as his mouth dropped over the other, kissing over the silk and mouthing at her nipple.

She breathed deep, arching herself into his greedy mouth. The strap of her nightdress peeled down her shoulder as the hand on her hip moved inward, rubbing softly at her again.

"Oh. Draco, wait—"

"Shh. Trust me."

His lips dropped over her exposed breast and began to suck softly. Her hands roved through his hair, holding him close, and her legs bent up around her waist again as his hand rubbed her in circles, stirring her again.

His tongue pressed flat against her breast, and she looked down to watch him. His eyes were black, alternating between her breasts and her face.

The hand at her core twisted, and then a finger was pushing inside of her, slipping easily through the mess he'd made. She flushed in embarrassment, and he ran her teeth over her nipple. She yelped, and he slipped a second finger inside of her.

"Oh my god."

He strummed her bundle of nerves, curling his fingers inside of her core while his other hand pulled and pinched her nipple and his mouth sucked hard on the other one.

Her neck reached back. One arm flew behind her, grabbing for the pillow.

"Draco, I—"

"Come on, Granger."

He rubbed inside of her, pressing his thumb tight, and when she clenched down on his fingers, his lips left her breast, pushing up to cover her mouth and devour the sounds she made.

Her thighs were shaking, vibrating with the pleasure. She opened her mouth and let him thrust his tongue into her like his fingers inside of her core.

Her body lay suspended, a feeling of vulnerable relief crashing over her as she let him play with her through her second orgasm.

He wanted her.

He wanted to pleasure her.

_Please, Granger, I'll give you anything you want—_

Her muscles relaxed, her body spent. He removed his hand from between her legs, and kissed her sloppily until she drifted off to sleep, the weight of him still heavy on top of her, the feeling of him still inside of her like a carving into marble.

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